


Jonn d’Ville-Sims, First Mate of the Magnus Institute, London

by ArtNerdSarah



Series: Out of Time [1]
Category: The Bifrost Incident — The Mechanisms (Album), The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big eldritch fuck you abominations, Canon Typical Swearing, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Weirdness, Guns, Happy Ending, I wouldn’t call them graphic, Jonn is not a miss spelling, Mentions of The Mechs fiction, Scars, Some Crack, Time Weirdness, but they don’t factor into the story, but they may be, canon character death, cursing, fuck the worms, identity crisis, it makes sense in the story, kind of?, loss of limb, lots of blood, mentions of MAG 160, mentions of worms, one beta but we still die like archival assistance, ships are only implied or briefly mentioned to be one sided, there are fun moments, time travel fix it fic, use of the f word, weird clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24506308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtNerdSarah/pseuds/ArtNerdSarah
Summary: Jonathan Sims was tired. Surely, that was it. He was just tired. That’s why it looked like reality was glitching, right? That had to be the reason.Jonathan Sims picked up his bag and——was staring out a window into space. Because he was a space pirate. And he had always been a space pirate.~~~Or, someone has found themselves switching between the lives of Jonathan Sims, The Archivist and Jonny d’Ville, The Space Pirate~~~This is the first in a series, but it can also work as a stand-alone fic~~~I’m putting this in now just so everyone’s aware: The reason I put this as “Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings” is because there is a) canon character death that I personally would not consider major but someone else MIGHT, and b) some violence that I would not consider graphic but someone else MIGHT. Okay? We good? Cool cool
Series: Out of Time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771423
Comments: 88
Kudos: 331
Collections: Jonny D'ville pretends he's Jarchivist, RaeLynn's Epic Rec List





	1. Shifting

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY! SO! Few quick things.
> 
> First, this could be read as a Jon x Jonny, Jon x Martin, or none of the above. I kinda realized midway through that some of what I was writing could be interpreted as Jon/Jonny shipping fodder, but I didn’t really make it happen. Martin’s crush on Jon is briefly mentioned, but not elaborated upon.
> 
> Second, there are some characters who only show up briefly. I actually tagged the characters in order of how much screen time they get (Jon and Jonny are sort of equal in that regard).
> 
> Third, there’s spoilers. Things that get spoiled: The Magnus Archives up through episode 160 (as mentioned in the tags), The Bifrost Incident (up through the song Ragnarock IV - Jormungander, at LEAST), mentions of the Mechs song “Gunpowder Tim vs. The Moon Keizer“ as well as “Sleeping Beauty” (from Once Upon A Time In Space), and several of the short fiction stories on the Mechs website (including “Who Killed Dr. Camilla?”, and “Out”). 
> 
> I think that’s about it.
> 
> Edit/Update: My buddy has been going through and finding some typos/errors I’ve made, and I’ve been fixing those.
> 
> I’m pretty sure that’s what a Beta Reader is? But I’m not entirely certain. (I did take out the “not beta red” tag) You can check them out on their instagram @Leothewolf73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone can’t tell if he’s an archivist or a space pirate
> 
> Time fuckery ensues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I had this in a google doc, I wasn’t sure exactly if things like italics or bolded letters would copy over into ao3. Turns out, THEY DO! But when I was using the docs, I had ** to denote where I had special formatting (so I could translate that over to ao3), and I’m not entirely sure if I got rid of them all. This applies to all chapters going forward.

Jonathan Sims was working late in the archives. That wasn’t exactly unusual for him. Everything was fine, really, except for the fact that Martin had to sleep in the archives on account of a certain… worm infestation. Besides that, everything was fine.

Until he saw something… odd. From the corner of his eyes, Jon could see what looked like a… computer glitch? Some kind of twitch in reality, maybe? Jon whipped his head around to look, but whatever he had seen was gone. Huh. Jon rubbed his eye and shook his head. Perhaps he was just tired. Surely, that was all. “I should be heading home, anyway,” he said to no one in particular. Jon reached down to pick up his bag and—

—he stared out a massive window, at stars passing by in the distance. He watched a dear friend drift away through the vacuum of space—

—and dropped his bag on the floor next to his feet. He was inside his apartment. How had… he… Jon had taken the train home, right? But he could only vaguely recall, in that way that when you do the same thing over and over again all those memories blend together. But this time, it was different… somehow… Missing.

Maybe Jon was more tired than he had first thought.

Jon stumbled down the hall—

—of the Aurora. He stopped dead in his tracks. Jon…ny. D’Ville. Jonny d’Ville. First mate of the space crew, The Mechanisms. Right. That was right. That was who he was: Jonny d’Ville. Who was Jonathan Sims, again? No one. It was no one. Right? Jonny’s head felt fuzzy. Had he been day dreaming? Unlikely. Was he sick? Definitely not. He was immortal and could heal from having his brains blasted out. How could he even get sick? Ridiculous. Why had he even considered…?

Jonny shook his head and continued walking, one hand on his holster the whole time. Why was he so shaken? Maybe he should, eugh, _talk_ to someone. As disgusting as that idea was, it could help… maybe.

He walked until he found someone. Gunpowder Tim! He wasn’t exactly Jonny’s closest friend (that honor went to Nastya, of course), but they didn’t hate each other. Well, Jonny didn’t hate Tim. He wasn’t entirely sure what Tim felt, but that was irrelevant. “Hey, Tim!”

Tim looked up from what he was doing (Jonny really didn’t care what). “Yeah…?”

Jonny thought for a minute about what he was going to say. Which was not something Jonny typically did. Why did he bother? “I was wondering if you noticed—

—if anything was wrong?” Jon asked Timothy Stoker. His friend. Right. Right?

Tim glared back at Jonathan Sims (had he always been Jonathan Sims? of course he had. who else would he be?) like he was crazy (wasn’t he? no, no he wasn’t). “You mean _besides_ the fact that we’re all going to die? No, nothing.” And that made sense, coming from Tim, because they were about to stop the Unknowing, and Jon knew that Tim saw this as a suicide mission, and Tim hated Jon for stalking him, and Sasha died, and _why was this news to him, exactly_?

Jon needed to breathe. He needed to be in the right headspace to do this. He was probably on the verge of a breakdown from the stress of trying to save the world. Yeah, that made sense. Jon turned the corner to look inside the circus, and—

—Jonny saw flashes of fire as bullets pierce into his skin from all sides. He was being shot at by red haired clones.

Rose Reds, he mentally corrected. He knew they were Rose Reds. He knew what Rose Reds were. Didn’t he?

He was laughing. Why wouldn’t he be laughing? He was immortal and bullets didn’t do shit! Well, they could absolutely blow off flesh and cause a lot of pain, but it’s not like he cared. He was immortal and not even a little afraid of dying! So why—

—was Jon screaming in agony as worms burrowed into his flesh on every patch of skin he could feel?—

—was Jonny laughing as he ~~shoved~~ _allegedly_ shoved Dr. Camilla out of the airlock?—

—was Jon screaming as his ribs were being pulled from his chest?—

—He was in his quarters. In his bed. On the Aurora. It was quiet. So deafeningly quiet. His ears rang, his skin burned, his body was shaking.

He had no idea who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely take constructive criticism, by the way


	2. Deduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The name Jonn appears
> 
> The identity crisis continues
> 
> “Jonn” starts to figure things out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in, boys. This one’s a long one

Jonny sat up. Or was it Jon? There was only one of him. But there wasn’t really, was there? He was Jonny and Jon, all at once, and his mind burned and- “FOCUS!” Jon(ny?) slapped himself in the face. “Just…! Focus.” He closed his eyes and took in several shaking breaths. He needed to focus.

There were two names that rattled through his head: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London and Jonny d’Ville, First Mate of the spate pirate crew The Mechanisms. Jon and Jonny… Jon and Jonny… Those two names were similar enough. “Okay. What about… Jonn? With two n’s…?” He nodded to himself. “That works for now.”

Jonn stood up. He was currently in Jonny’s quarters, on the AUrora. He was sure of that. Jonny knew the layout of the Aurora like the back of his hand, meaning Jonn _also_ knew the ship like the back of his hand.

Jonn began ~~walking~~ _stumbling_ through the Ar—

—chives, feet blistered. Damnit, this was different again. Jonn leaned against one of the shelves. He could see the glitches more clearly now. The world was definitely glitching, albeit faintly.

Jonn took in a deep breath. Jon had listened to the tapes from the Unknowing, hadn’t he? And Basira had made her way out. 

Who was Basira again? She was a friend, wasn’t she? Yes, yes she was. It was hard to think, as memories of two lifetimes bled together and blurred into one blob, stinging behind his eyes and-

Jonn slapped himself again. “ _Focus_ , Jonn with two n’s. Think of what Basira did.” Did she do it? “This is a place and a now. There is an end to this place and now. You just have to _find it_.” He took a shaking breath in and out, clung to the shelf next to him, and began to use it as he walked. Carefully, he pushed open the door that left the archives and into—

—the engine room of the Aurora. Nastya was there.

Who was Nastya again? She was a friend, wasn’t she? Yes, yes she was. It was getting harder and harder to think, but he could focus on this: the here and the now.

Nastya turned her head up, lifting the welding mask from her face as she did so. “Jonny? Are you alright?”

Jonn just barely shook his head. He was panting. He took a step closer. “Nastya…” He fell forward. Nastya jumped up, dropping whatever she had been holding to catch him. He was so tired. “Nastya… I—

—don’t understand.” Jonn was in an office, now. A man was holding him up, now. Elias Bouchard. Who was Elias again? His boss. Yes, Elias was his boss. Jonn was shaking.

Elias wore an expression of deep concern. “Well, I would imagine so. You just fainted.” Elias chuckled one of those chuckles that bubbles up from the bottom of your throat when you’re scared, or confused, or both. “If I knew promoting you would have * _this*_ reaction, I would have sat you down first.” While giving off another nervous chuckle, Elias gently guided him to the chair opposite his own. It was in front of a large desk. Elias’ large desk. Jonn knew that.

Jonn let himself be seated. He was so confused, and afraid, and tired, and he felt terribly alone. No, not alone. _Sick_. Like his gut had been ripped out and put through the wash.

Elias kneeled down in front of Jonn, placing a hand on his thigh. “Jon.” Did he mean ‘Jon’ or ‘Jonn’? Probably ‘Jon’. Elias knew ‘Jon’. Jonn didn’t know who he was. “What’s wrong? You seem—

—tired.” Nastya was where someone else had been. Elias? Jonn thought it might have been Elias. Nastya was more comforting. “Jonny, tell me what’s wrong.” Right, it made sense that she would call him ‘Jonny’. Was Nastya always this kind, or was she trying to keep who she thought was Jonny (maybe he was Jonny?) from blowing holes in the Aurora?

Jonn was shaking. When had he started shaking? Had he been shaking before? He remembered shaking in his quarters. When was that? How long ago? Had it happened? If it did, had he been shaking since then? 

Jonn took in a deep breath, trying to calm his body. “I keep… being places.” His voice was trembling, too. When had that started? “I’ll be here, on the ship, and then…” Jonn ran a hand through his hair. How could he explain what was happening to him, when he could barely understand it himself? “And then… I’ll be a different person in a different place. Then, I’ll be back here, or on another planet, and I’m me again, but… I don’t know if I’m me or the other person, and…” Jonn sucked in another deep breath. It didn’t calm his nerves at all. “I think everything is happening out of order. I know time doesn’t fucking work for us, but it’s not working in a different way than it usually doesn’t work.”

Nastya nodded like she didn’t understand but wanted to comfort him anyway. “Okay, so you think you’re being… displaced in time?”

Jonn nodded. “But in my time and someone else’s. I don’t… I don’t know if I’m Jonny or Jon anymore.”

Nastya nodded again, still clearly not getting it but acting like she did. Was she always a bad liar, or did he gain this perception from Jon/ Was Jon perceptive? Or was Jonny perceptive? Or were neither? “Alright, Jonny, alright. Tell me, what was—

—the last thing you remember?” Martin was kneeling in front of him. Martin. Jonn was in the safe house with Martin. So many people were dead. He knew that.

Or did he? Hadn’t the world ended? Jonn looked out the window. The sky was free of eyes. Was the world _going_ to end?

“I…” So many memories blurred together in his head, simultaneously, all out of order and all at once. How could he know they were out of order, if they were all at once? What even was his most recent memory, before being in the cabin with Martin?

Jonn furrowed his brows. He concentrated. “I was just… I was just… with Nastya.” Wasn’t he? He couldn’t remember clearly. “I remember the—

—bifrost.” He was in front of Inspector Lyfrassir Edda, being interrogated individually. Why was he being interrogated individually, when the inspector hated him? Hated the Mechanisms? He knew the inspector wouldn’t visit him until… “the bifrost returned. Hasn’t it? That’s why you came.”

Edda frowned. “No? I was going to ask about… Is it supposed to?” Lyf slammed his hands on the table. “Do you _know_ something about the Bifrost?!”

Jonn remembered the Bifrost returning. Jonn remembered being interrogated about the BIfrost’s return. But it hadn’t happened yet. 

That confirmed it. He was traveling through time... somehow. Through two times? Jonn opened his mouth to say something, but found himself—

—gagged. And tied up. What? Nikola Orsinov was there. Taunting him. He was Nikola Osrinov’s prisoner. And then—

—Micheal was there. “If you scream loud enough, the Circus may take notice of me, but… I promise you die far more pleasantly with me than with them.

Ah. Right. Micheal wanted him dead. Shit. But that was fine. Jonn was immortal. Or was he? He knew _Jonny_ was immortal, but was Jon? If not, what would that mean for Jonn?

Wasn’t something going to happen to stop him from dying? So, he accepted. “Okay.”

Micheal grinned. “Right this way~” Micheal gestured toward his door. “Open it. Open it, and all this will be over.”

Jon took a step forward and tried to turn the doorknob. Right. It was locked. He knew this was going to happen. Helen—

—was now distortion. When had he jumped forward? Helen was on the other side of the open door.

Jonn made a reckless decision: he ran inside the door, past Helen. But instead of the corridor he had previously seen, there was only a black void. And he fell and fell and fell—

—until he did, indeed, land in a corridor. He looked up.

He saw that he was not alone. Helen was gone. Micheal was gone.

But Jonn was not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell that I’m a fan of parallelism?
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome


	3. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonn is not alone
> 
> Two people Know Things

Jonn was kneeling on the floor of a corridor he did not recognize. In front of him, Jonn was kneeling on the floor of a corridor he did not recognize.

In the split second it took for the pair to lock eyes, they both knew 4 things: 1) One of them was Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London and one of them was Jonny d’Ville, First Mate of the space pirate crew The Mechanisms and highest ranking crew member of the spaceship The Aurora. 2) Not a moment ago, they had been experienced the same flashes between each other’s lives, in precisely the same order. Perhaps they were the same person during that time, or perhaps not. 3) Neither of them could quite remember the order of events that lead to Jonathan Sims and Jonny d’Ville sharing each other’s lives. Neither of them could quite remember the order of events that lead to Jonathan Sims and Jonny d’Ville staring into each other’s eyes. 4) Neither of them had even the slightest clue which of them was Jonathan Sims and which one of them was Jonny d’Ville.

It didn’t help that they looked nearly identical. Both wore identical pairs of Jonny’s goggles on their heads. Both wore identical pairs of Jon’s glasses in front of their eyes. Both wore identical vests (Jonny’s) atop identical sweater vest + blouse tops (Jon’s). Both wore one of Jonny’s boots and one of Jon’s business loafers. Both had one eye decorated with black lightning makeup. Both had the other eye clean of makeup at all.

While there were some small differences in their appearances, none of them could help in identification. Were this Jonn’s circular scattered scars from worms burrowing into his skin, or from being shot to near shreds by an army of Rose Red’s? What about that Jonn’s? Was the burn scar on that Jonn’s left hand from when Jonny d’Ville’s hand didn’t fit under the lead blanket in the moon trenches, or from when Jonathan Sims decided it would be a totally swell idea to shake the hand of Jude Perry, known avatar of the Desolation, just because she said it wouldn’t hurt? When had any of those events ever happened? Had they happened yet, or were they yet to happen?

The only real difference was their heights. One was definitely not tall, and the other was definitely not short. Theoretically, even that could be a result of the Spiral’s corridors twisting them somehow.

The Jonn that was not tall opened his mouth to speak first, but no words came out. The Jonn that was not short opened his mouth to speak next, but still no words came out.

Then, they spoke at once. “What do we call each other?”

Another pause.

The Jonn that was not short patted his side and found a holster, missing a gun. He looked towards the Jonn that was not tall’s side. “You have Jonny’s gun.”

The Jonn that was not tall touched his side and found a holster holding a gun. “I do.”

The Jonn that was not short hummed and tapped his chin. “Y’know, I think I’m more like Jonny.” He smirked.

The Jonn that was not tall raised an eyebrow. “Being taller doesn’t automatically make you Jonny. Either of us could be either of them.”

The Jonn that was not short snickered and used the Jonn that was not tall as an armrest. “Well, Jonny is 5’2, while Jon is 4’9.”

The Jonn that was not tall growled and shoved his arm off. “The distortion changes things. We can’t trust heights. _Especially_ if we can’t measure each other exactly.”

The Jonn that was not short laughed. “Maybe you just don’t like the idea of being the short one forever!” The glare was all he needed to know. “Maybe that’s what I should call you! Short-stacks!”

The Jonn that was not tall spat at the Jonn that was not short’s feet. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Fine fine.” The Jonn that was not short looked back to the gun that was on the Jonn that was not tall’s hip. “Trigger then. You have the gun, don’t you? You sexy devil?”

The Jonn that was not tall rolled his eyes, but smirked anyway. “Egotist. Maybe I’ll call _you_ Pretty Boy.”

The Jonn that was not short simply grinned. “Pretty Boy! I like that!” The Jonn that was not short locked arms with the Jonn that was not tall. “I’ll lead the way, Trigger!”

They began walking, arm in arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I do enjoy writing the phrase “The Jonn that was not x”, and yes I am aware that I’m the only one who finds that funny
> 
> Jonathan Sims is a tiny tiny man. Change my mind


	4. Corridor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger and Pretty Boy pass the time
> 
> Some conclusions are drawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warning: blisters. Lots of blisters
> 
> No, I did not do any research

While Pretty Boy and Trigger could not tell how long they had been walking, they both knew it felt like a very long time. Not that time meant in the Distortion’s domain.

Which distortion? Extremely unclear. Both, perhaps? They were sure they had heard two voices giving them contradictory directions the whole time. Whispers in their ears. They both heard it: Helen leading them in one direction, Micheal in the other, each warning them of the danger of the other’s path. Trigger and Pretty Boy both decided to thoroughly ignore these voices.

Regardless of where they were or how long it had been, they were both very tired. Their feet were very sore.

But they had kept going.

For a long time, they tried to distract themselves from the exhausted pain. They would keep walking.

At some point, Pretty Boy decided it would be fun to sing. The Mechanisms were musicians, after all, and they both remembered the lives of the Mechanisms (albeit in blurry and fragmented blobs). They both knew the words, but which Jonn knew them by heart and which Jonn Knew them by Eye was unknown. (they had the most fun singing duets.) Eventually, they made it through every song they could recall.

Then what?

At some point, Trigger decided it would be fun to retell statements. But which Jonn knew them from being the Archivist and which Jonn knew them by being forcibly shoved into the role of the Archivist was unclear. (they had the most fun teasing each other’s way of telling the statements.) Eventually, they made it through every statement they could recall.

Then what?

They tried playing some games, but after one of them had somehow nearly ended up with a bullet in the head (neither could say which, nor which of them could survive such a thing, nor which had even fired the gun. they carefully put the gun back in Trigger’s holster), they decided enough was enough.

So, they walked in silence.

For a short amount of time.

When they started hearing those whispering directions again, they started talking about whatever came to mind to make those whispering voices _shut the fuck up_ , or at least drown them out.

Eventually, that grew boring.

And by then, they were both extremely exhausted. Their feet were aching and stinging.

Wordlessly, the pair looked at each other, nodded, and fell into sitting positions on the floor. Pretty Boy was the first to pull his shoes off, and Trigger followed suit.

Trigger was the one who noticed that their feet were blistered. “Shit. That’s not going to heal any time soon, now is it?”

Pretty Boy groaned. “Pretty sure they were blistered before.”

Trigger shook his head. “Not this badly.” He sighed. Must’ve been walking for one hell of a long time for that to happen.” He frowned. “Are you tired?” Pretty Boy scoffed at that. “I mean _sleep-_ tired.”

Pretty Boy raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No. Me neither.”

There was a pause.

“Should we be?”

Trigger shrugged. “Probably. Hard to tell. But given the condition, well…” He gestured to the blisters. “I think we definitely _should_ be.”

“We already knew time was fucked.”

“Not _this_ fucked.”

Pretty Boy leaned his head back against the wall behind himself. “So?” He was trying desperately to keep the tremble out of his voice. “What do we do? Walking aimlessly clearly isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Agreed.” Trigger bit his bottom lip. “We should compile what we know.”

Pretty Boy had to hold back a laugh. “What we know? Easy. NOTHING! We know FUCKING NOTHING!”

Trigger winced. “No need to shout. I’m right. Here.” He sighed, pinching between his eyes. “Alright, look. Let’s figure out what leads we have. We both remember the lives of both Jon and Jonny. So, it’s reasonable to assume that there would be some sort of cause from both of those lives. Correct?”

Pretty Boy leaned forward, hands together. “That makes sense.” He looked around. “Given where we are, I’d say the spiral is definitely part of it.”

Trigger nodded. “And we know the distortion can bend space.”

“So what, it can bend time, too?”

Trigger shook his head. “I wouldn’t assume that. But…” He leaned closer as well. “Maybe something from Jonny’s life _can_. After all, time doesn’t work for the Mechanisms.”

Pretty Boy snapped, enthusiasm returning to his voice. “The Bifrost! We spoke to the Inspector, didn’t we? Maybe that has something to do with it! The Spiral is just abig fuck you abomination, right? So is Yogsothoth! Just bigger and more fuck you!”

Trigger grinned and moved closer. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

Pretty boy moved even closer. Now they were holding each other’s hands, from sheer excitement. Pretty Boy was beaming. “We know there are two distortions-”

“Helen, and Micheal,” Trigger finished.

“Are they working together?”

Trigger thought for a moment. “Helen helped us more than Micheal in Jon’s life.”

“Should we listen to her?”

“It’s the best lead we’ve got.” 

Both Jonn and Jonn grinned as they put their shoes on. Pretty Boy got up first. He pulled Trigger up to his feet. “Then let’s not waste any time!”

They went back to walking. Their feet ached, but they were too excited to listen to their nerves weeping. Instead, they listened to the whispers. Helen’s whispers.

As they did so, Micheal’s sounded more and more erratic. Was that a good sign? Or a bad one? It was hard to tell. Hopefully good.

The whispering led them to a door. Behind the door, they heard a voice.

Their grins fell immediately.

“Is that…?” Pretty Boy trailed off.

Trigger’s eyes narrowed. “Odin. Definitely Odin. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.”

“So would I.”

Jonn ‘Pretty Boy’ d’Ville-Sims and Jonn ‘Trigger’ d’Ville-Sims stood in front of the door, holding hands. Trigger gripped his gun as Pretty Boy gripped the doorknob. As his hand turned the doorknob, it twisted from some plain metal with a cheap gold coating into a shimmering rainbow bismuth. The door twisted and distorted, bending and shifting in hue and material. Then, Pretty Boy pushed it open.

They stepped inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is welcome


	5. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonn and Jonn finally get some answers
> 
> Pretty Boy gets protective of Trigger
> 
> Odin is Odin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Descriptions of violence. I don’t know how “graphic” they are (I don’t think they’re that bad, and I’m squeamish as fuck), but there’s (not well described) loss of limb
> 
> Quite a bit of exposition, by the way. I tried to make it interesting, but... hmmm...
> 
> The climax is rough

They were now inside of Odin’s observation deck. And inside Odin’s observation deck was Odin. And behind Odin, they saw glass. And behind the glass, they saw the impossible: An endless spiral of colors, many of which didn’t actually exist on the visible light spectrum and should not be visible but were, forming shapes that couldn’t possibly be real, all clawing and gnashing and gripping and slashing at nothing and everything, all tearing apart and always whole, and all painful to look at.

Odin tilted her head to face them. No, that wasn’t quite right. It would be more accurate to say that she turned her neck. Her neck that was somehow liquid despite being totally solid. It twisted and turned and spiraled until both of her eyes were facing them. It felt as if her blind eye were looking more intently than her working one.

Her voice was distorted and wrong, beautiful in the most sickening way. “Hello, Archivist. Pirate. Which is which—

—I wonder?” All at once, the observation deck was gone, Odin along with it. In her place stood Micheal, all long limbs and longer hair and sharp fingers and sharper teeth. Now, the world swirled in all the most painful neons, with hints of colors that were far beyond and should not be visible. The glitches were now clearly visible. It was so much easier to see when it was from the eyes of a third party. “Not that it matters, of course.” He laughed, and his laugh was even more grating than usual. Pretty Boy felt like his ears were going to bleed. “You both were in my corridors, meaning—

—it may have worked already.” It was Helen now. Everything was calm now. They were in a simple gray room with nothing remotely special about it. Everything was quiet. Wasn’t it quiet before? This quiet was better. Gentle, somehow. “How unfortunate.”

The hand on Trigger’s gun was trembling now. Or would it be more accurate to say Trigger was trembling, and his hand was still?

Pretty Boy gripped Trigger’s hand tighter. “Care to tell us what’s going on? _What worked_?” Pretty Boy made sure to add that extra bit of power to his voice. Was the compulsion his own? Or had he learned it within the last however-long-it-had-been? It felt natural, but somehow difficult. 

Helen sighed. “Micheal wants to ensure that—

—I stay as myself.” Micheal laughed. Through his laughter, they could hear other voices. Sceams, mostly, but they were nearly drowned out by Odin’s laughter. “Meaning—

—I will never exist.” Helen seemed to glare while looking at them, but it didn’t look like she was glaring at them.

Trigger finally tightened his grip in return. “Why us?”

Helen sighed. “I think you two were—

—the most fun!” Micheal’s painful laugh grated on them. Trigger winced, feeling his mind scream in agony. Micheal continued. “Well, the most fun matching pair between two realities.” Micheal stepped closer and lifted Trigger’s chin for just a moment.”

Pretty Boy yanked him slightly closer. Was he getting protective? Maybe. Best to worry about that later. “What do you mean _between the two realities_?”

Micheal’s grin was so wide that his cheeks seemed to split wide open. Were his teeth longer than they had been? “The 14 aren’t the only entities stuck between the realities. They were just the ones closest to mine. Well, my reality and the archivist’s. Whichever one of you that is. Can you remember? I can~” His eyes seemed to shimmer. “I heard singing from one closer to the pirate’s universe.”

“Yogsothoth,” came a unison response. So their suspicions were true. The Spiral and Yogsothoth… were working together?

Micheal hugged himself and spun around, speaking as he did so. His voice was sing-song. “It was _beautiful_ ! And it showed me how to bend spaces that didn’t exist, pull one reality close to another!” He stopped and held his warped arms out and above him, in a twisted parody of a crucifix. “And it showed me how to bend time!” His smile began to fall, as did his arms. “And it showed me my future. How I would _end_ as—

—I would enter my becoming.” Helen was standing there. She adjusted her tie. “Micheal brought Jonny d’Ville to himself as a test, and when he did it corrupted your realities. He was ready to leave you to wander each other’s timelines forever, his experiment complete. But his bending of time brought me to him, and I need him to stop. And I need you to help me stop him. Hence why I brought you here.”

Pretty Boy growled out a simple, “Why help us?”

Helen looked him in the eye. “Well, I would like to exist for one. And if that’s not reason enough, Micheal’s new abilities are unstable. _Yogsothoth_ is unstable. It wants to be pulled into more than just one reality. And I don’t want it to. Simple enough?”

Pretty Boy turned his gaze to Trigger, just for a moment. He was too scared to do anything, clearly. Still trembling. His grip was around the gun, but he wasn’t pulling it out. Pretty Boy looked back to Helen. “So why the hell is Odin here?”

“Odin is Yogsothoth’s avatar, just as The Archivist is one for the Beholding.” She shuddered and glitched and—

—then Odin was laughing, while tearing into Thor. “YOGSOTHOTH SHALL REIGN OVER EVERY WORLD!” Odin slammed Thor’s head down into the metal controls, causing a loud **CRACK**. “EVERY SYSTEM!” She ripped off one of his arms, causing him to fall back. He swung his hammer, knocking out one of her teeth. She just grinned. “EVERY **REALITY**!” Odin’s sharp hand ran into Thor’s chest and out the other side.

She pulled her hand out.

Thor, clutching the engineer’s hammer in his only arm, stumbled back towards Jonn and Jonn. It didn’t seem like Thor could see them.

Pretty Boy still yanked Trigger closer, one arm around Trigger’s shoulder. Definitely protective.

—Helen was looking at them, panicked. “This must be stopped!”—

—Micheal was laughing. “THIS CANNOT BE STOPPED!”—

—Odin, once again grinning like a mad woman, was there covered in her and Thor’s blood. She was glitching. She was flashing between herself— and Micheal, both of their shouts simultaneously one after another, and overlapping. “ **I AM THE — SERPENT THAT — SHALL BOIL — THE SEA! — THE LAND SHALL — FREEZE ETERNAL — AS YOGSOTHOTH — BECKONS US HENCE, — WHOSE VOICE I HEARD —WHEN WE FIRST BUILT THE TRACK — SO LONG AGO! — ALL SHALL KNOW — MY RULE TO — BE THE LAST, — AND NONE SHALL — SURVIVE MY REIGN!** ”

—Helen was trembling, clutching her head in agony. She looked up. With desperation in her eyes and determination in her voice, she ordered: “Kill the queen.”

Pretty Boy didn’t need to be told twice.

—Odin was grinning, caked in her and Thor’s gore. “Killing me won’t save your world.” She had been talking to Thor.

She wasn’t even looking at them.

Thor responded, “I don’t care.”

As Thor took his final 9 steps toward the window, Pretty Boy grabbed Trigger’s hand and pointed it at Odin, not even bothering to taking the gun into his own hand before firing it. Trigger’s faint gasp wasn’t audible over the bang. Pretty Boy still knew he made it.

They weren’t entirely sure exactly what happened next.

Reality began rapidly glitching as bullet pierced flesh. All at once, overlapping and yet one after another, it fired through Odin’s blind eye,—Micheal’s neck,—and Helen’s stomach.

—Thor hit his hammer into the glass—

—Micheal collapsed to the floor, gripping his neck and coughing up blood—

—Helen screamed one word through her pain: “ **_RUN_ **!”

Finally snapping out of his fear, Trigger grabbed Pretty Boy’s writst and pulled him through the Bismuth door. And they ran.

They ran through door after door, trying to get as far away from the sounds of screaming as possible. And once again, they listened to Helen’s directions.

They kept running and running. Their blistered feet were now beginning to bleed. They kept running.

Helen’s voice urged them towards a door toward their left, which they pushed open and ran through.

And then they were once again falling through a black void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I’m good at: Making stories that require exposition  
> Things I’m bad at: Writing exposition in a narratively interesting way


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boys finally catch a break
> 
> Martin is a good boy
> 
> Elias has some rancid vibes

They both landed on their stomachs next to each other, now on a hardwood floor. They were panting. They both rolled onto their backs, looked into each other’s eyes, and grinned.

The Jonn who was not short, Pretty boy, knew all at once his own name: _Jonny d’Ville_.

The Jonn who was not tall, Trigger, knew all at once his own name: _Jonathan Sims_. 

Even though they were still wearing the mismatched combinations of each other’s clothes, they both _knew_. And it felt great to know.

And it felt great to know each other.

They both started laughing.

…

Martin Blackwood was going to bring tea to his boss, Jonathan Sims. He knew Jon didn’t really like him, but he was hoping Jon would eventually warm up to him. He was working so hard, after all. Even if he wasn’t… succeeding very well.

Martin sighed as he carried the mug from the Archive breakroom to Jon’s office. “Maybe today will be different,” he muttered to himself, hoping beyond any really logical hope. He really wanted Jon to like him. Jon was so clever, and handsome, and had the most beautiful voice and… and… Martin shook his head. “Stop it,” he scolded to himself. Martin couldn’t afford to let his crush get any worse.

Soon, Martin was at Jon’s door. He reached for the doorknob, but stopped. Was that… laughter he heard? _Jon’s_ laughter? And moreso, _two sets of Jon’s laughter_? … What?

Martin gripped the doorknob and pushed it forward.

His mouth fell open.

The mug shattered against the floor.

There wasn’t just one Jon on the floor, riddled with a thousand _old_ scars that he definitely didn’t have when he had come into work that morning. There were two. And both of them were severely breaking the dress code.

…

Jonah Magnus was fretting in his office. Something was wrong with his Archivist. Terribly wrong. He didn’t know what. He hated not knowing. And he hated not being able to Know even more.

He could see into the archives. There were two identical men, one of them was Jonathan Sims and one of them was ***not*** (and he didn’t Know which was which. that was infuriating). Even more worryingly, despite having only promoted Jon only 10 months ago (in March of 2015, and it was now February of 2016), his Jonathan Sims ( _which was his?!_ ) was already marked by the 14, and something… else?

This didn’t have to be a problem, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of curiosity, who was able to figure out which Jonn was which? I legit have no idea if I was subtle or not.
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome, as always
> 
> Hit me up @artnerdsarah on instagram or tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> I may make a sequel or other stories in this series, but I may not. Don’t hold hold your breath on that.
> 
> This story won’t get any more chapter updates for itself, but I may periodically “update it” by fixing spelling and grammatical errors. So if you get a notification or something (I don’t fully know if that’s how it works), that’ll be why


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